30 courtesy in Washington from the sub- way set toward strangers. People pa- tiently explain intricacies of how to obtain fare cards, make change, and insert cards, and tell you what station to step off at. Smooth, lovely subway. Transistor radios in great profusion now. Hostages still not free. Thou- sands and thousands in subway, but no shoving or other rudeness. Damn hard to believe. Washington subways are deep under the earth, and the escala- tors at one of main exit stations for the ceremony-Capitol South-were not running, so thousands trudged up many steep stairs clasping their por- table radios. Walked with throng toward the West Front of the Capitol. Had choice seat beneath platform, next to spirited California woman who was wearing large button depicting Ronald Reagan in a cowboy hat. "You would make me extremely happy if you would wear a Reagan button," she said to me, producing a small gold-plated pin reading simply "Ronald Reagan" I accepted pin. "This whole thing," she said, with a broad sweep of her hands, "is a tribute to what the country now thinks of California. Bringing in peo- ple like Sinatra, Carson, and Hope. That's what California can do. Those are the most important people in the country, and they are California- based." She said she had not bought a new dress specially for the occasion; she was wearing short brown boots and a cloth coat trimmed with fur. All around us, however, were ladies wear- ing mink and sable and occasionally ermine. Small children scattered every- where displayed large quantities of photographic equipment-cameras and telescopic lenses. Solemn ceremonies got under way with the Marine Band playing every- thing from Sousa to Gershwin. "Some of those people up there be- hind the dignitaries," said the lady beside me, "are Eagles." "Eagles?" I asked "Eagles," she said. "Eagles give ten thousand dollars per annum to the Republican Party." "Per annum?" I asked. "Per annum" she said , I turned around in my seat to catch a glimpse of the huge mass of people stretching out behind me toward the Mall. Both Houses of Congress arrived. The Supreme Court arrived. "Leo- nine," muttered a man next to me, referring to the Chief Justice The diplomatic corps arrived. "They're not out yet," said someone in my row. "Almost, but not quite." Mrs. Reagan and Mrs. Carter took their seats. Jimmy Carter entered, and "Hail to the Chief" was played for the last time in his Presidency. Reagan was delayed coming through the ro- tunda of the Capitol to the platform. Then he arrived, to the accompani- ment of a mighty trumpet flourish. Carter looked composed, and had a warm smile on his face. Reagan was solemn and dignified, and took the oath of office with deep emphasis on every word, every syllable. "I do sol- emnly swear that I will faithfully. . ." A peaceful transfer of power, and half a world away another transfer of power was within grasp. When Rea- gan finished his speech, it was his turn to be greeted with "Hail to the Chief." The thousands slowly filed from their seats toward the broad avenues of the city. It seemed that everybody now had a small radio. "I think they are airborne!" shouted someone in the crowd. "I don't think they have cleared Iranian air space!" called out another. I had a brief lunch in the Senate Refectory (the traditional Navy bean soup) and walked onto the East Front to watch the President join the parade. "They are really on their way home now," said a guard on the Capitol steps. He was clearly moved. The President emerged briskly from the Capitol, in his morning coat, and entered the open rear seat of his limousine. The First Lady, in a red twill cavalry coat, stood beside him. He looked years younger than when he had delivered his Inaugural speech, only an hour or so before. The huge plaza outside the Capitol was cleared of everybody but dignitaries and police and motorcycles and Secret Service and special guests. The cavalcade started down Capitol Hill onto Pennsylvania Avenue, and headed toward the White House. As for me, I walked and walked. In the evening, in a crowded, silent bar on Pennsylvania Avenue, I watched the hostages emerge from their plane at Algiers, and then I walked over behind the White House to the Ellipse and stood awhile in front of the now fully lighteà Christmas tree behind the South Lawn. The words "And crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea" kept running through my head. We could do worse than hold on to the thought. Shalala T HE last time we ran into Dr Donna Shalala, she was an asso- ciate professor of politics and educa- tion at Teachers College of Columbia University and was working in the 1973 campaign of Robert F. Wagner, Jr., who had just won the Democratic nomination for Manhattan council- man-at-Iarge. Since then, she has gone from one demanding job to another. In 1975, she was appointed a director and treasurer of New York's Municipal Assistance Corporation. In 1977, she left that post to become Assistant Secretary for Policy Development and Research in the Department of Hous- ing and Urban Development, in Wash- ington. In December, 1979-after a long search by the board of trustees of the City University of New York- she was named president of Hunter College, and last September she as- sumed that position. On a recent Fri- day, she was the guest speaker at the weekly luncheon meeting of the City Club of New York, which is an asso- ciation of about five hundred profes- sional people, business people, and civic officials whose aim is to act as a sort of gadfly in the city's political and economic life. The subject of Dr Shalala's speech was "Washington Afterthoughts-About American Cit- ies," and we stopped by to hear what she had to say. The luncheon was held in a large room on the seventeenth floor of the Graduate Center, on West F orty-sec- ond Street. Some forty club members were there, lunching on broiled